


Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins

by thegraceinyoureyes



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: M/M, boys dancing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:25:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5604877
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegraceinyoureyes/pseuds/thegraceinyoureyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finn had never known music. All of a sudden he is thrust into life on the Rebel Base, and music is everywhere. And so is Poe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where Words Leave Off, Music Begins

**Author's Note:**

> I was thinking about music, and how Finn might react hearing it all over the place for the first time, and this happened. 
> 
> I haven’t actually seen the film yet - I know, I know - for various, equally frustrating reasons, so this might be OOC. It’s is also un-betaed and was written in one afternoon, so any mistakes please let me know.
> 
> I spent much longer writing this than was necessary, mostly because I kept pausing to watch swing dance videos. I picked swing dance mostly because of popularity of jazz music (or jizz. [Seriously](http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Jizz).) in the Star Wars universe, and also because the idea of Poe Dameron swing dancing gives me life. Seriously, just youtube one and picture it <3
> 
> (I would also like to leave this link [ here](http://isaacoscar.tumblr.com/post/136054253698/oscar-isaac-dancing%20post), as it is eternally relevant to this fic.)

Music. Music is everywhere at the Resistance Base. It sings softly in private rooms, doors cracked open as Finn walks by, the strains drifting into the corridor. It blares through the speakers in the mess hall, playing hits from whichever planet the person in control that day calls home. Some of it is terrible, grating on Finn’s eardrums. Some is quiet and haunting in its melancholy air. Some makes his feet tap, his head nod, laughing aloud as people get to their feet, moving their bodies in time with the music.

And then there’s what Poe plays. Most of the pilots have little portable devices that produce music and have them playing as they work on their fighters. Poe is no different. The first time Finn finds him, shoulder deep in one of his beloved X-Wing’s engines, sound spilling from a device on his hip, Finn can only stare. Poe pulls himself out of the engine, twirling a screwdriver in one hand before putting it down and picking up a wrench, all of which is done while shimmying his hips and shaking his body. Finn draws back so he can watch without being seen. Because this- this is unlike anything he’s ever witnessed.

He had never known music. If he concentrated very hard, he could just about remember a few bars from a lullaby; a light, easy tune; all he can remember of his time before the First Order. 

But this- Poe’s sheer enjoyment of the music as it pours into the hangar. Poe’s humming now, catching the shifts and lilts of the tune, dipping in and out. Finn is entranced. Poe abruptly ducks under the wing, and Finn stumbles back to stop from being seen. In doing so, he falls over a stray bucket and lands heavily on his back.

He’s blinking blearily up at the ceiling when Poe’s face swims into focus above him, along with Poe’s hand. The pilot is grinning broadly.

“Alright down there?”

Finn rolls his eyes and allows Poe to pull him to his feet. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, sorry.”

Poe just laughs at that. “Interrupt my hard work you mean? Tinkering with my X-Wing isn’t a bad way to spend an afternoon.”

He turns back to continue when Finn blurts, “That thing, what is it?”

Poe turns to face him, confusion written across his face, before he looks in the direction of where Finn gestures. 

“What, this?” He unhooks it from his belt and tosses it at Finn, who catches it, and stares down at the thing he held in his hands in wonder. “It’s my music player. I like having it on while I work. Helps pass the time.” Poe pauses, taking in Finn’s awestruck gaze. “Haven’t you seen one before?”

Finn shakes his head. “How does it work?”

Poe steps closer, demonstrating which buttons to press to change tracks, how to select specific songs. 

“The sounds,” Finn finally says, still hardly able to believe that the noise was coming from such a tiny box, “they’re beautiful.”

Poe’s eyes are very wide now. “Finn, have you not heard music before, never danced or sung to it?”

Finn shrugs, suddenly uncomfortable under the close scrutiny. Ever day he is reminded on how much of life he had missed while running drills and being trained by Phasma. It was a life ruled by the First Order, alive and yet not living, not in the way the rebels did, with their music and dancing, friendship and love. 

Poe seems to sense where his thoughts have gone, and smiles to ease the tension. “Well,” he says, taking the player from Finn’s hands and placing it to one side, “we’ll just have to fix that then won’t we?”

Uncaring of the other pilots and people in the hangar, Poe drops into a deep bow before Finn, stretching out his hand before him. When Finn doesn’t move, Poe reaches out and takes his hand. Finn can feel a flush begin to creep up his neck at the sight.

Poe steps back, keeping a hold on Finn’s hand before tugging lightly, so Finn stumbles towards him, before, just as quickly, spinning and pushing away them apart again. 

“What?” Finn questions, confused by what Poe is trying achieve.

“We come close, like this,” Poe demonstrates, using their locked hands to draw them together, “then spin out.” He’s moving lightly on his feet, with a grace and elegance of movement that Finn knows, instantly, he had no hope of ever replicating. Poe is perfectly in time, one with the music, with a smile brightening his face.

“Yeah, I’m not going to be able to do that.”

“Will you try? For me? Just follow my lead.” Poe looks at him, his gaze warm, and something settles heavy and low in Finn’s stomach.

He finds himself nodding agreement.

Poe tries the move again, and this time Finn moves with him, allowing the pilot’s movements to dictate his own. It feels much more natural, and Poe’s answering grin is dazzling.

“There you go!” He crows, repeating the move until they are spinning back and forth, drawing in and out. Poe’s feet are feather light, and he’s doing some kind of quick footwork that Finn can only ogle at while he tries not to trip himself up.

Just when Finn begins to think he’s getting the hang of it, if feeling a bit dizzy, Poe changes the game by taking hold of Finn’s waist, pulling him close for one, heart-stopping second. He throws him out again a moment later, lifting their joined hands into the air. “Now you spin.”

Finn, as he’s discovering he is to Poe, is powerless to resist, and allows the pilot to spin him around, before pulling him back against him. There, Poe slows down, one arm around Finn’s waist, clasping their joined hands to his chest. They’re only gently swaying now, and Finn has to close his eyes against the overwhelming feeling of it all. Of Poe’s hand in his, his body pressed so close, and the music washing over them.

“So,” Poe speaks softly, “what do you think of dancing?”

Finn pulls back slightly. “It’s…I don’t know how to describe it.”

Except that he does. It’s belonging, it’s feeling that you are an important part of something bigger, something wonderful, something that would mourn your death. It’s feeling that here, on a Resistance Base in the Ileenium system, in the arms of an X-Wing pilot, he has a purpose. That he belongs.

Looking at Poe, he sees a recognition there, a reflection of his emotions. Finn can’t be sure which one of them moved first - although he’d place his bet on Poe - but suddenly they’re kissing.

They have stopped swaying, and Poe is warm and solid under Finn’s palms. The kiss is chaste, sweet and a little teasing. There’s no rush to their movements, content as they are, trading soft kisses with the strange and delightful music filling the air around them. Finn has never felt move alive.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote by Heinrich Heine.
> 
> For updates on my writing/to come squee over the magnificence which is stormpilot, hit up my [tumblr](http://poeo.tumblr.com).


End file.
